


The Secrets We Keep

by TreeOfLife1997



Series: Other!Jaskier AU's [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Half-Mer!Jaskier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:00:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22013758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TreeOfLife1997/pseuds/TreeOfLife1997
Summary: Jaskier had viewed Geralt as his friend, ever since the second time they had met each other. While he made not have shown it, he had in fact been warry around the Witcher when they first met, but not for the reason most humans feared the Witcher. For Jaskier was who he claimed to be, he'd never lied about that... He just hadn't told the fall truth. He was going to though! Once he was fairly certain the Witcher wouldn't kill him on the spot... But what did it matter now? Geralt may have spoken those words in anger, upon that mountainside, that didn't however, mean they hurt any less.Two-part story, for now, may turn into a full story, no promises though.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Other!Jaskier AU's [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1595701
Comments: 47
Kudos: 321





	1. Chapter 1

"Damn it, Jaskier! Why is it, whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it's you shovelling it!?" The words rang in Jaskier's head, rebounding off the sides of his skull forever moving and refusing to lie still where they could lay forgotten in the back of his mind. "The Child Surprise, the djinn, all of it! If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!" He could usually push aside Geralt's harsh words or comments; he was not a man of open emotion after all. His desired method of communication was grunting and huffing, blunt or seemingly harsh words... However, this time Jaskier found he couldn't just brush the worlds off. He could, however, grant Geralt his wish.

So, Jaskier had returned the camp. Noted down the tales the dwarfs spun, more for appearance's sake than anything else, and quietly slipped away, unseen by the dwarfs as they hurried about the camp, gathering their belongings and laughing gleefully about the prized dragon's teeth they now had. Geralt hadn't ventured back from his brooding session, so Jaskier didn't need to worry about the Witcher deciding it would be the honourable thing to escort Jaskier back to the closest town, for fear something would attack and kill him on the road. Sometimes he wondered if Geralt forgot he'd survived quite well on his own before they met, for a far longer than the witcher would have believed.

For you see, Jaskier wasn't just a humble bard, who travelled from court to court, or town to town, singing and making a pretty penny. There was a reason Cintra no longer welcomed magic in their court after all... And it hadn't been entirely his fault; in fact, it'd hardly been his fault at all. Humming a tune, he raised his hands and let them drift through the air as if conducting an invisible orchestra. Chaos, or magic as many called, in its rawest form glittered in the air around him and swirled about him as if commanded to dance to his hummed tune. He waved his hands, and a portal swirled to life before him, and he stepped through, leaving the mountain and Geralt behind him.

~*~

Weeks had passed since the dragon and all that had followed. Jaskier had heard rumours the White Wolf was on the move and planned his journey accordingly. He knew it was petty to avoid the Witcher purposely, but his feelings were still hurt. Geralt had all but wished the fates would take him. Now, Jaskier knew the Witcher hadn't meant it, at least he hoped he hadn't, but it had been a truly terrible thing to say, even in anger and the heat of the moment after whatever had occurred between the Witcher and the Mage. It wouldn't matter for much longer though, Jaskier had a plan. One which seemed unnecessarily cruel, but one he could justify in the sanctuary of his mind. 

While it seemed the Witcher was moving from town to town, as if looking for something, Jaskier knew not to delude himself into thinking it was him that Geralt was looking for. The Witcher was looking for the next monster to kill that would earn him some coin. So, as Jaskier stood in the middle of a path, in the middle of one of the most dangerous regions of forest on the continent, with a set of his clothes, torn and bloodied, in one hand and a bucket of blood he acquired via a somewhat shady Mage in the other and a rumour he had spread about a well-known bard travelling this very path, ready to play his newly written masterpiece in the next town over... Well, it wasn't like Geralt was looking for him, or that he'd even hear the rumour of his supposed death.

Because this life had nothing left to offer Jaskier, his muse was gone, and so was his passion. This life was never meant to last forever, anyway. It was merely something to do after he'd fled from his home and his responsibilities. It was time he stopped being the coward, Geralt had no doubt believed he was, and return home. No doubt his mother missed him terribly, and he'd hidden well, well enough that she'd never found him or maybe her responsibilities hadn't granted her enough free time to do so... Not that it mattered now, he'd be returning home shortly enough.

Taking a deep breath, Jaskier tossed the blood about leaving a trail into the swampy like ground near the edge of the path and a puddle near his feet. He dropped his ruined clothes, before screaming at the top of his lungs, a scream filled with fear, which broke halfway through, only to continue laced with pain. It had been loud enough to be heard at the town, which was only just out of view through the trees. A roar suddenly ripped through the air and Jaskier instantly dropped a hand to the dagger he wore at his side, before he began running, singing a tune under his breath. A portal opened up before him, and he jumped through.

~*~

Breathing deeply, Jaskier smiled at the familiar scents on the wind. The salty onshore wind, whipped up his hair in a frenzy and he laughed. How he had missed this place, he hadn't realised quite how much he'd missed until now. Not far from where he stood, across an open field and perched on a cliff's edge, was a towering building and beside it, linked by a wooden bridge, was a tower rising from a rock which threatened to be consumed by the ocean around it. And suddenly, Jaskier's steps faltered. Had he made the right choice coming back here? Maybe he should have just forged himself a new mortal life and avoided crossing paths with his once Witcher friend, just in case he couldn't conceal his scent well enough.

No, he shook his head. He needed to set things right. He'd done enough running and hiding and pretending to be human. He'd never been destined for a normal, human life anyway. His biological parentage had confirmed that fact and if it had not been for his mother, finding him abandoned on the shore of a nearby cove, he'd have had no destiny at all. For his father had been a fisherman, whose boat had been set upon by a mermaid. Dangerous and fierce creatures of the deep, which appeared humanoid other than their weirdly shaded skin and fishtails. They had teeth as sharp as razors and nails which could rip about the side of boats, they feasted of raw flesh, including that of humans. Their most notable features were their voices, which they used to call up storms to sink larger ships or wreck them along the coast. A shipwreck on the coast was rare, however, as it ran the risk of having to share a meal with sirens.

It had been a dark night, the moon hidden behind clouds when a mermaid had set upon Jaskier's fathers' boat. The monster was upon him before he even had a chance... However, the mermaid didn't kill him. As the name implied, mermaid were, in fact, all female. If a human male wasn't killed straight away by a mermaid, it was because that mermaid was in need of a mate. And that was how Jaskier came into being, but as a boy, his appearance was human and he'd been left to drown. Fate had been on his side, however, and he'd been washed ashore just as his mother had been taking an evening stroll along the beach. His mother, who wasn't capable of having her own children, had taken him in and raised him as her own. And much like the mermaid Jaskier had been born from, he could control magic through song, so it was indeed fortunate his mother was a mage.

~*~

Jaskier was so distracted with taking in the details of the main hall of the building he once more stood in, he didn't notice his mother had appeared, altered to his presence by some of her students, who'd been heading to the greenhouse when he'd entered. Her usual calm, collected and somewhat strict appearance faltered for a moment at the sight of him and she reached out a hand as if to touch him, her face full of raw emotion, before quickly pulling back her hand and composing herself once more. She cleared her throat pointedly and Jaskier spun to face her.

Before him stood none other than Tissaia de Vries... His mother.

Jaskier shifted slightly with unease. For once in his life words escaped him. They hadn't parted on the best terms, while nothing truly terrible had been said, Jaskier had run away in the dead of night and hadn't returned until now and that had been centuries ago. Tissaia didn't seem angry to see him at least, but there was no happiness shown on her face either. Jaskier sighed and run a hand through his hair, before finally settling on something to say.

"Hello, mother," He greeted.

No witty comments or apologises. Just a simple hello. And it was as if Tissaia broke, her collected outward appearance being overrun by emotion once more and she closed the distance between them, pulling Jaskier into a tight embrace. For she had been much like Yennefer in her youth. She had wanted power and respect and beauty and she had wanted it so badly, been so blinded by her emotions, she hadn't stopped to think about what she'd be losing in the process. It wasn't until much later, centuries later, once the glamour of court life had worn off, that she found herself wanting a family she couldn't have. She'd resigned from court life and taken the position she had now, it hadn't quite filled the hole in her chest but it had helped... And then she had found baby Jaskier on the beach and she'd known what he was straight away. Knowing no parent would come to claim him, she claimed him as her own.

And that was what had driven Jaskier away after the disaster that was Cintra. She had never told him of his true parentage, and when it had been discovered by the Cintra Court with a little help from Stregobor, it seemed he had a habit of interfering when it came to people's bloodlines. And as a result, Jaskier had been chased from their court monster hunters on his trail and the new-found knowledge of his true parentage. He'd returned home, asked her calmly if it was true. She said it was, unable to lie to him and Jaskier had simply turned and gone to his room. His silence had said more than a thousand words. He'd been gone by dawn. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! I've had this idea stuck in my head since I finished watching the show, but I'm not really sure where to take the story next. If you want it to be continued, please let me know and share any ideas you may have, they'd be greatly appreciated! I also ship Geralt/Jaskier, if anyone would like to see that relationship develop. I don't, however, wrote mature content, sorry!


	2. Chapter 2

Geralt slowly got to his feet, half tempted to remain where he was sat and meditate until the sun had set. For someone many claimed was incapable of feeling emotions, he had a whirlpool of hurt and anger engulfing his heart, which he hadn't been able to meditate away. The Golden Dragon had lied. 'A little hurt', no near-fatal wound had ever cut so deep as what he was feeling now. No physical pain had ever come close. But he could not remain here, Jaskier was no doubt waiting for him, back at the camp. It would no doubt be an awkward trek back to the closest town, where they would no doubt part ways until they undoubtedly crossed paths again sometime in the future... And maybe in that time, Geralt would be able to unruffle some of the ruffled feathers his angry words had no doubt caused.

No, Geralt thought to himself, Jaskier was more like a puppy dog. Who would shield away and hide its face with big sorrowful eyes after being scolded, maybe whimper and whine, just to give an extra tug on those heartstrings, to inspire just the right amount of guilt, but would quickly return lovingly to its master's side at a kind word and a loving pat... But even a dog could be beaten one too many times, a voice whispered from the back of his mind. Forgiveness wasn't always guaranteed, even for someone as seemingly forgiving as Jaskier. It certainly wasn't the first time the Witcher had sent acidic words Jaskier's way, but never before had they been quite that cruel or spoken with such anger fueling them. Breathing deeply through his nose, Geralt turned his attention to simply getting back to the camp, he'd weather whatever storm came next, one step at a time.

Upon arriving at the camp, the first thing Geralt noticed was the district lack of Jaskier. His familiar curls were nowhere in sight, even though the camp was alive with activity on part of the dwarfs, who were rushing about as they packed up their stuff. Yarpen, their leader, was calling out orders and for a moment Geralt considered approaching him. It was possible Jaskier had already left, but no, he couldn't have. Geralt eyed Jaskier's lute, his most prized possession, laying next to a boulder where Jaskier had perched himself the night before in order to be as far from Yennefer as he could possibly get without leaving the camp. He had probably just gone to take a piss, then. He'd no doubt be back soon and Geralt didn't have to worry about the bard having his throat slit, as the man responsible for such an act lay slain back at the dragon's cave.

Moving towards his belongings, the Witcher began to pack up his own belongings. A part of him remained vigilant for Jaskier's return and he paid little mind to the dwarfs. They had proven themselves honourable enough, he doubted they'd attempt to stab him in the back. Even if they did, he hear their unfamiliar footsteps, even if he wasn't actively listening for them. Minutes passed and Geralt had packed away all he had bought with him, yet Jaskier still hadn't returned. A frown creased the Witcher's forehead as he made his way over to Jaskier's lute. What was taking him so long? Had another beast come upon, whilst he'd stepped off the path? Turning his attention back to the dwarfs, Geralt cleared his throat.

"The bard," He spoke. "Where did he go?"

Yarpen turned towards him, "He was here a moment ago, scribbling down our tale. Sat on the very boulder."

Yarpen indicated to the boulder Geralt was stood beside.

"Did you see him leave?"

"Afraid not."

"Fuck."

Peering down at the ground, Geralt easily made out Jaskier's tracks and didn't waste a second following them. He'd heard no sounds of a struggle since he returned to the camp and he'd certainly heard no screams or cries for help. Neither of which offered him much comfort, Jaskier had quite the talent for attracting trouble... Maybe something had killed him before he had the chance to make a sound. Geralt quickly shook his head as if to clear it of such thoughts, nor did he like the creeping sensation such thoughts were filling him with. A cold chill, like boney fingers wrapping themselves around his guts and crawling up his spine. It almost felt like fear and it left a foul taste in his mouth and stirred up a protective instinct Geralt hadn't felt since Jaskier decided to stick to his side like a limpet.

Following Jeskier's tracks down the path, which lead down the mountain, Geralt couldn't help but wonder where the bard was going. He'd left behind his lute, so surely he hadn't decided to leave. Geralt was fairly certain, given the chance, Jaskier would give his life for that lute. Halting suddenly, Geralt's heart skipped a beat, maybe two, as Jeskier's tracks ended without warning. Scanning the ground around him, there were no signs of a struggle, nor were there any tracks leading in any direction at all. It was only then Geralt noticed the faintest of marks on the ground. Marks left by wind, but they moved in random directions, not like the uniformed pattern a strong breeze usual left. Reaching up, Geralt felt his pendant.

It was warm.

Magic had been used here and recently enough his pendant was able to pick up on the traces of chaos left behind. His hunch was correct, those marks had been left by a portal. He closed his eyes for a single second and tried to recall any mention of Jaskier getting on the wrong side of a Mage. Nothing came to mind, if anything, Jaskier seemed unnerved by magic, especially following the incident with the djinn. So what would a Mage want with the bard? And where on the continent was Jaskier now?

~*~

Many days had passed since Jeskier had disappeared upon the mountainside and since then Geralt had been passing from town to town, killing monsters at the request of those he met before moving on. His coin pouch hung heavy with coins as a result, but it did little to ease him. Whatever the feeling was that had settled in his gut like a stone, nothing seemed to be able to shift it, not even a warm, dry bed to sleep in at night or hot food and the knowledge he had enough to buy Rouch as many oats as she desired. He stopped at each town long enough to do the job and ask at the local taverns, whether a bard by the name of Dandelion had passed through, the answer had been no every time. A part of him hadn't been all that surprised, because what was a bard without their instrument? The very instrument which was now tied to Roach's saddle alongside the Witcher's own belongings.

He even ventured off the paths and lead Roach through the danger infested wilderness, with no other purpose than to seek out Mage's who resided nearby. Questioning each and everyone he encountered, but none knew anything about Jaskier's disappearance and it was bringing to grate on Geralt's nerves. He hadn't found a single lead, nor even a mere rumour of where his on-and-off travel companion could be. And that was where he found himself once again, leading Roach through twisting trees, towards and old looking cabin set back from the path, which was home to a Mage. The local town had warned him not to come near this place, the Mage who practised here was known to dabble in the dark side of magic.

Leaving Roach a safe distance from the building, Gelalt crossed the rest of the distance by himself. The door creaked as he pushed it open and the Mage behind the counter looked up and peered at him with eyes that seemed to see straight through him. The Witcher felt a sliver of satisfaction as the Mage clearly tensed as they realised what Geralt was, and he pinned them under his unnatural coloured gaze.

"I'm looking for someone," Geralt said, approaching the counter. "A bard."

"All sorts visit here, Witcher, and they hardly declare their occupation upon entering," the Mage answered.

"He is slight in build, curly brown hair, grey eyes," Geralt stated.

The Mage thought for a moment, before their eyes lit up. They smirked up at Geralt and folded their hands atop the counter and gave Geralt a once over.

"Such information will cost you." Their smirk widened.

For a brief second, Geralt contemplated drawing his sword. He did not have the patience for this, not after so long travelling with no news. He pulled out a few coins, being sure not to let the Mage see the amount he carried. Because deep down Geralt knew he'd part with every penny if it meant receiving even barest hint of where Jaskier was. The Mage eagerly snatched up the coins and first checked to see if they were real before turning back to Geralt.

"Someone entered here, not two days ago matching such a description," The Mage stated.

"What did he want?"

The Mage held out their hand again and Geralt grit his teeth as he handed over another coin.

"Blood," The Mage answered simply.

"Blood," Geralt repeated frowning. "Where was he going? Which way did he travel?"

The Mage once again held out their hand and Geralt almost reached for his sword, but restrained himself and handed over another coin.

"I don't know," The Mage grinned. "He portalled in and out again. I've never seen magic like it. He paid well enough, so I didn't ask questions."

Geralt let out a frustrated grunt and left. Jaskier didn't have magic, this Geralt knew. They had spent a lot of time around each other and never once had his Witcher pendant alerted him to the presence of magic. If Jaskier had been a Mage, Geralt would have known from the second they'd met. 

~*~

It had been the town after visiting the Mage, where the rumour of the well-known Bard Dandelion was going to reveal his new song, about a battle with a dragon of all things, reached Geralt's ears. He hadn't wasted a second after that, he'd left the town so fast people had been forced to leap out of his way or risk being trampled under Roach's hooves. He'd travelled nearly none stop, only stopping to let Roach rest and graze. He'd made it in good time, the bard wasn't set to play until the next evening. Geralt wondered if he'd be able to sniff Jaskier out before then. The sooner he spoke with Jaskier, they soon this unwelcome feeling would go away and the sooner he could continue on his way unhindered.

Suddenly a distant scream cut through the air.

A scream that came from someone all to familiar.

Wasting no time at all, Geralt thundered through the town on horseback and vaulted off Roach's back once the forest on the other side of the town came into view before Roach had even stopped. His sword was drawn in seconds and he was sprinting along the path towards the scream. He could see drowners through the tress, fighting over something, which reminded Geralt an awful lot of one of Jaskier colourful jackets. Taking the drowners by surprise he sliced through them with practised ease, it barely registered he hadn't downed one of his potions. There was something else fueling him at that moment, which he couldn't name. It felt an awful lot like an emotion though...

Once the drowners were dead at his feet, Geralt almost fell to his knees at the sight of the sheer amount of blood on the path, which led off into pools of water beyond the path's edge. He knelt suddenly, almost like his knees had given way under him and he shut his eyes, his keen hearing would alert him to any movement long before anything came into sight. He breathed in deeply and tightened his grip on his sword, only to frown and sniff the air again. The scent of blood was heavy in the air, but it wasn't the scent of Jaskier's blood, which had burned itself into his memory after the djinn's curse.

Jaskier's blood was unique, the Witcher had never crossed paths with another human who's blood had smelt quite like Jaskier's. There was a hidden depth to the scent of Jaskier's blood, it reminded the Witcher of winds cast inland off stormy seas and roasted seaweed and the scent which filled the air before it rained, masked almost completely by the metallic scent of human blood. An unusual scent, for sure. He hadn't thought much of it at the time, other things had occupied his mind and once Jaskier was healed, he hadn't dwelled on it. They had parted ways soon after, in fact and Geralt hadn't thought about it again until this very moment. The blood definitely wasn't Jaskier's and Geralt's mind flashed back to what the Mage had said.

The person matching Jaskier's description had bought blood.

There was blood on the path and it had not come from Jaskier. Moving quickly, Geralt snatched up a piece of torn material and examined it. It was definitely one of Jaskier's jackets, he'd worn it on their journey to find the dragon. Sniffing the blood on the material, it smelt the same as the blood on the path. There was a faint hint of Jaskier's scent lingering on the material like it hadn't been worn since Geralt had last seen him wearing it. So Jaskier hadn't given it to someone else and it had been Jaskier who had screamed, yet there was no sign of the bard. Only tracks leading to this spot and evidence of the drowners. Standing up, Geralt began following the tracks which lead to that spot. It didn't take him long to find the markings on the ground which showed a portal had once formed there and no footprints beyond it.

~*~

The door to the cabin opened with a thundering crash and the Mage looked up to find an extremely angry looking Geralt standing in the doorway, drenched to the bone. Lightning lit up the sky beyond the doorway and cast the Witcher's shadow across the floor of the cabin for a frightful second. Thunder ripped through the air and shaking the ground.

"Witcher," The Mage greeted, trying and failing to hide their fear.

"The one I sought before," Geralt growled, stalking forward. "Tell me everything you know."

"I've already told you, Witcher."

Geralt had grabbed the mage by their collar, drawn a sword and had it pressed to the Mage's throat before they even had time to blink.

"Tell. Me."

"He was a Mage," The Mage gasped out. "Of that I'm certain. His magic was pure chaos as if plucked from the very air around him. He portalled in and portalled out. He wanted blood, the exact amount you'd get if you bleed someone dry. He paid well."

"What else?"

"I know nothing more, I swear!"

Geralt pressed the blade harder to the Mage's neck drawing a thin trail of blood.

"Wait! Please!" The Mage pleaded. "He used the elder tongue, but he didn't speak spells, he sang or hummed them."

Geralt eased up a little but didn't let go of the Mage or lower his sword, "there's more you're not telling me."

The Mage gulped, "he stayed at the town to the west whilst I gathered the blood he needed. I asked how long he planned to stay, it's not often I get customers who pay so well, you understand? He said he was just passing through, something about needing to tie up some loose ends before he finally went home. He paid me extra to keep this between us."

Geralt released the Mage with a growl and stormed out of the cabin.

Home.

If this unknown Mage was indeed Jaskier, as the quivering mess of a Mage in the cabin had claimed, which Geralt didn't believe for a second. No mage could hide their magic in such a way and certainly not from a Witcher's pendant. However, this unknown Mage might know where Jaskier was. Maybe it was them who'd taken him in the first place. But on the off chance, it was indeed Jaskier and he had somehow managed to hide his magic, where was Geralt to even start? Jaskier had never spoken of where he was from originally. He'd never spoken of his parents, or of any family in fact. He didn't even know which Kingdom Jaskier had been born in! Geralt had his suspicions that Jaskier had been of noble birth, the way he acted and held himself, that was something members of a court knew and were trained in. A bard, no matter how good nor how many feasts they performed at, couldn't master it in quite the same way as someone raised in it. Jaskier was also educated, he could read and write and his script was elegant and masterful, but it offered no clues as to where Jaskier would call home.

"Fuck." Geralt cursed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if Geralt is too out of character in this! I hope you enjoyed it. For the time being, this will most likely stay a two-part story. I'm considering writing more, but I don't want to get anyone's hopes up. Thanks for taking the time to read this!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry in advance, if this isn't the kind of chapter you were expecting or hoping for. I just wanted to explore some of the relationships Jaskier has, both past and present, with family and friends and possible enemies. So, the next few Jaskier centric chapters are going to be exploring a bit of his past as well as showing what he's up to in the present. I'm always open to suggestions, so if there's something you'd like to see come up in the future of the story let me know and I'll consider it :)

The storm which had raged for the last three days had finally cleared, leaving the sky a pale blue through the thin clouds. Tissaia de Vries walked barefoot along the sandy beach of the cove, the hem of her dress collecting damp sand as she walked. Her excuse was to collect seaweed, as it was useful in a significant number of spells. She was genuinely walking the beach alone to mourn. She cared deeply for the well being her students, some more than others, especially those who came from troubled pasts or lives on the streets and one of those students was why she was walking the beach mourning. The student in question had just been placed in a kingdom, and they had come to thank her personally... They told her she was like the mother they'd never had. If Tissaia hadn't had better control over what emotions she let show, she would have shed a tear at that moment. Instead, she had given a rare smile and congratulated them on their new position.

It reminded her of the life she dreamed of, but would forever be beyond her reach. She'd given up so much in her search for power and greatness, and looking back it hadn't been worth it. She longed to have a child she could call her own, to have a family she could call her own, it just wasn't something she could have, not anymore. Maybe that was why she cared so deeply for some of her students and why that's students words had reached her heart, reminding her of what she could never have but at the same time filling her with such joy. With a sigh, she turned and made her way to where the waves were lazily and calmly flowing up and down the sand, leaving fresh seaweed in their wake. Bending down, she began sorting through bright and dark greens and dark reds and purples gifted from the sea, placing those which were suitable in her basket and ignoring the sudden coldness of saltwater soaking up the skirt of her dress.

As she continued to move, she didn't notice something unusual and out of place amongst the washed-up seaweed. It was only when she went to pick up a rather large strand of seaweed her fingers came in contact with something as cold as the seawater soaking up her dress, something that felt alive and twitched weakly against her hold, her gaze flickered to the baby nestled in a pile of soft seaweed. The baby looked so pale, for a second she believed it was dead, that was until it tried to remove its leg from her grasp with a weak wiggle and blinked grey eyes, like stormy skies, at her. Tissaia dropped her basket in shock, before quickly moving forward and pulling the freezing cold baby into her arms. A boy, she realised as she examined it and ran her hands over his cold limbs, and newly born if the umbilical cord was any indication... This baby should have been dead long before she'd found it, yet it squirmed about in her arms with more energy than most freshly born babies had.

Looking around, Tissaia knew there was no one else about. The only tracks in the sand were hers and the mother who had abandoned this child, could not have gotten far, not without help. Casting her gaze to the water, she wondered if a ship had wrecked in the storm. But how could a baby have washed up on the shore alive? Staring back down at the baby in her arms, she cradled in closer, wishing she had bought a cape or cloak so that she could wrap him in it. His skin was still ashen, and his skin was still cold, yet he blinked up at her and looked as far from death's door as one could get. Quickly turning, Tissaia hurried up the beach her basket forgotten, heading towards the path which led to the looming building further along the coast.

~*~

Jaskier yawned as he rolled over and stretched as the morning light streamed through the window and bathed him in its warm glow. He slept surprisingly well, for his first night back at Aretuza. He'd been worried sleep would desert him, and he'd be left tossing and turning all night, unable to fall into sleeps calming embrace, haunted by his past and worried about his future. No doubt it wouldn't take long for the brotherhood to find out he'd returned. Would they try and place him at another court? Would he have to face punishment for what had happened in Cintra? He'd fled before he'd even discovered what their reaction was... On the bright side, it didn't appear anyone had searched for him, and if they had, they hadn't tried very hard. He'd still be called before them, sooner rather than later, he knew. A part of him was tempted to run again, forge a new life for himself once more. But the other part of him had missed home; he didn't want to abandon it again.

Sitting up, Jaskier looked around his room; it hadn't changed at all. It was almost identical to how he'd left it, so long ago. If it hadn't been for the lack of dust, he could have practically believed no one had set foot in his room since he had left it last. There was no dust, though, and a few things were out of place or moved. There was also the lingering scent of his mother perfume on the air, and it made him wonder how often she'd come up to his room in his absence. A wave of guilt washed over him then; he'd left without even saying goodbye. He'd vanished into the night without leaving so much as a note, nor had he reached out at any point of the years he'd been away... And he'd been away for a long time. If he'd genuinely been human, not just pretending to be one, a few lifetimes would have passed. It was hardly a blink of an eye for a mage, but the mage in question was also his mother. Had she worried about him? Of course, she had Jaskier scolded himself; she was his mother.

Getting out of bed, Jaskier quickly got dressed, not in his usual bard outfits, though. He dressed in clothes more fitting of a mage, but no less colourful and patterned than his previous clothes had been. They were simply more practical for spell work, the material harder to damage by a misfired spell as the material itself was threaded with enchantments he'd placed there, and if he were to enter a royal court, would show he was a guest, not the entertainment. Sighing to himself, Jaskier ran a hand through his hair and regretted not bringing his lute with him. Its weight across his shoulders had become familiar over the years, and he almost felt naked without it, like a part of him was missing. He briefly considered portalling back to the mountain, to see if it was where he had left it. He shook his head almost as soon as the thought appeared, his lute would be long gone by now.

He paused briefly to wonder if Geralt had discovered his lute, left behind and the camp. Or maybe the dwarfs had taken it when he hadn't returned; it was undoubtedly a prized item, at least it was to Jaskier. It was elven made, so he doubted anyone else would look at it twice, maybe if it fell into the wrong hands, the might even burn it solely for the fact it was elven! Shutting his eyes, Jaskier couldn't help but question if his actions since the dragon had been the right ones and if they were for the right reasons. He'd faked his death, knowing the rumour would spread across the kingdoms. He was returning to his old life; it had seemed the best way to make a clean break. With his supposed death known throughout the kingdoms, no one was going to question where he'd gone, because questions would certainly have been asked if he'd suddenly just disappeared... Especially as it was widely known he travelled with a Witcher often.

He'd worked hard on improving Geralt's image; gods damn it, he wasn't about to have all that undone because someone started a rumour that the White Wolf had finally grown tired of him, killed him and disposed of his body in some woods somewhere. Because that would undoubtedly be what people would think! Because Jaskier could no longer lead the life of a bard travelling and singing songs. He was a mage; he'd be given duties just like before. It was better people believed he was dead because then no one would look for him. And if he happened to cross paths with anyone who'd seen him perform? They'd likely think how similar that mage looked to the late bard. It was times like these, Jaskier was glad he performed under the stage name 'Dandelion' because it meant fewer people knew his actual name...

Jaskier shook his head as if to try and rid himself of the guilt which flooded through him; it was becoming harder and harder to justify what he'd done. Deep down, he knew Geralt hadn't meant a word he'd spoken on the mountainside, but they still hurt him. Geralt had been angry, hurt and upset, he'd simply lashed out, and Jaskier had been an easy target. As Jaskier planned, a part of him had been gleeful at the prospect of Geralt hearing of his demise and know his wish had been fulfilled, to feel the pain Jaskier felt at being wished away. That Destiny had taken Jaskier off his hands, permanently. A part of him still hoped the news of his death reached Geralt and that the story cut him deeply. The rest of him, however, wished he'd found another way to make a clean break with his old life. It was unlikely Jaskier was ever going to cross paths with the Witcher again, so Geralt was never going to know he wasn't truly dead.

Or maybe Geralt had been telling the truth? Jaskier felt like pulling his hair out in frustration. Maybe Geralt had meant it when he'd said they weren't friends. Perhaps he'd spoken the truth when he'd said, on countless occasions, he didn't care for Jaskier. If it were true, news of Jaskier's death wasn't going to bother the Witcher and Jaskier had nothing to feel guilty about.

"Damn you, Geralt," Jaskier whispered. "Why is it, wherever I find myself, you're always in my thoughts?"

~*~

Giltine flittered around the room like a cross between a beautiful hummingbird and a colourful peacock, and he pulled fabrics and silks from the piles which littered every flat surface, holding them together and then disregarding them if they weren't what he was looking for. Sat in a chair near the window, Tissaia held the sleeping baby boy she'd found on the beach in her arms. She'd inquired around the local villages and towns, which weren't actually that local, but no pregnant women had gone missing, only to return without a child or not returned at all, and none had been seen passing through. Nor had there been any shipwrecks off the coast during the storm, she even checked ports and harbours along the coast, but no one had been missing a child, and no ships or boats that had come in had lost a newborn baby overboard. With no one to claim the child, Tissaia hadn't been about to turn down this blessing the God's had dropped at her feet.

She almost rolled her eyes as Giltine disregarded yet another pairing of materials. She almost regretted her decision in reaching out to the Enchanter to help her, as he had now taken it upon himself to fashion and make every garment the baby was ever going to wear, it would seem, as she'd seen sketches of clothing suitable for a young men amongst the baby clothes and toddler outfits, even outfits for small children. The Enchanter had cooed and fawned over the baby as soon as he'd seen it, before promising to make the baby the most fashionable garments, he'd be the envy of every baby around. Tissaia smiled fondly down at the baby in her arms, still sound asleep against her chest. It had been weeks since she'd found him now, and she knew there was nothing in the world she loved more than the baby in her arms. A part of her was still fearful that someone would come to claim and take him away from her.

"Have you decided upon a name, yet?" Giltine asked as he approached.

Tissaia smiled and stroked the babies cheek lightly.

"Jaskier," She replied softly. "My little flower."

Giltine looked down at sleeping baby, "he'll be more beautiful than any flower."

~*~

"Good morning, Mother," Jaskier greeted as he sat down at the table.

"Petal," Tissaia smiled as she looked up from a parchment she was reading.

"Bless the God's," A familiar voice echoed from the hall. "Do my ears deceive me? Was that the young master Jaskier I heard?"

Jaskier looked towards the door just in time to see Giltine appear in the doorway, one hand placed over his heart as he gasped at Jaskier. In his other hand, he carried a large bag, no doubt full of fabrics.

"Enchanter Giltine," Jaskier smiled, getting to his feet.

"Dear Melitele," Giltine dropped his bag and hurried forward, pulling Jaskier into a tight embrace. "You have returned to us!"

Jaskier let out a slightly nervous laugh as he embraced Giltine, "I'm sorry I was gone so long."

Giltine released him and stepped back, his gaze sweeping over Jaskier before settling on Jaskier's face. A frown creased his forehead, and he reached up and touched the corners of Jaskier's eyes.

"Aging potion," Jaskier explained quickly. "Someone who doesn't age is quickly noticed, and I didn't want to be found. The effects should wear off in a few years... Unless I make and take an antidote."

"Here, petal," Tissaia said, pulling a vial out of seemingly midair and placing it on the table. "I intended to give it to you last night. However, you were already asleep, and I did not wish to disturb you."

Giltine snatched the vial off the table and uncorked it and all but poured it down Jaskier throat, in his haste to get him to drink it before Jaskier even had a chance to say anything. Downing the foul-tasting liquid in one mouthful, Jaskier gagged on the taste. Every inch of him tingled as the effects of the ageing potion were reversed and it was long before he didn't look a day older than when he had Geralt had first met. Instantly, Giltine was circling him, and Jaskier couldn't help but feel like a bug under a magnifying glass, as the enchanter hummed to himself as he studied Jaskier.

"Much better," Giltine announced. "Certain styles and colour suit certain ages. It is much easier to work with a canvas that is not hiding its true nature. Clothes I'd fashion to suit an aged appearance would not suit you at all once the ageing potion wore off."

Jaskier nodded slipped past Giltine to return to his seat at the table; he was somewhat at a loss for words. It was like nothing had changed in the time he was gone. He'd been expecting anger upon his return, but so far all he'd been met with was relief and happiness and for life to continue as if he'd never left. Ever since Jaskier could remember, Giltine had always been as he was now and Jaskier knew it wouldn't be long until he had an entire new wardrobe at his disposal. Giltine had played such a significant role in raising Jaskier, the only person Tissaia had trusted enough to reach out to, he was the closest person to a father figure Jaskier had. And he's certainly inherited his artistic flare from Giltine, even if they worked with different mediums. 

~*~

Jaskier giggled as he played with the food in his bowl, that which wasn't in the bowl was smeared around his face. Tissaia couldn't have stopped the smile which had formed on her face if she had tried.

"What a mess you have made, my little petal," She scolded lightly, and Jaskier looked up at her with wide grey eyes and an adorable smile.

"This is a sight I never thought I'd see," A voice said from behind Tissaia, causing her to tense.

Standing, she turned to face the speaker.

"Artotius," Tissaia greeted, through gritted teeth. "What a pleasant and unexpected visit."

"Oh, come now, Tissaia," Artotius smiled, sweeping forward and approaching the baby Jaskier, who stated up at the head mage with wide eyes. "I heard rumours that there was a baby at Aretuza, I just had to see for myself."

"One of the new students," Tissaia forced a smile as Artotius turned to look at her. "They showed great promise; only a fool would have cast them out for being with child."

"Hmm," Artorius turned back to Jaskier, before reaching down and picking the baby up.

Tissaia felt her heart skip a beat and she clenched and unclenched her fists, as she watched the head mage of the brotherhood cradle Jaskier in his arms, with a surprising amount of care. It wasn't because she didn't trust him, because she did to a degree, they were both members of the brotherhood... Which was a game of politics and one-upmanship, of spoken words, honeyed to hide the fact they held little meaning. She had no doubt Jaskier would be used as leverage, should it be discovered he was her child.

"Why is the child in your care, if his mother is here?" Artorius questioned, as he gently bounced Jaskier in his arms, making him giggle.

"To allow her time to study, uninterrupted," Tissaia answered

"I don't know whether to be offended," Artorius met and held Tissaia's gaze. "That you believe me so shallow as to use a child, _your_ child, to further my own interests within the brotherhood."

Tissaia smiled tightly, "a tactic which neither of us is unfamiliar with, though, blackmail has gained you plenty of favours in the past."

Artorius inclined his head in acknowledgement, "I have never threatened one's family, seeing as I have one of my own and would not risk drawing them into the harm's way of the petty conflicts of the brotherhood... I believe we can come to some arrangement, however."

Tissaia shot Artorius a sharp look.

"My sister," Artorius said as he approached Tissaia. "Will likely have a daughter within the next few decades. A place here would be preferable."

Tissaia inclined her head, "very well."

Artorius smiled and carefully handed Jaskier to Tissaia before disappeared just as quickly as he had appeared.

~*~

"This is a marvellous surprise," A voice caused Jaskier to jump slightly and almost cut his hand with the boline knife he was cutting up herbs with.

Placing the knife down, he turned and was greeted by the sight of Artorius standing in the doorway of the greenhouse.

"Artorius," Jaskier forced a smile, shifting with unease. Was the head mage here to talk about what happened in Cintra? Was he going to be called before the brotherhood? Would there be a punishment for abandoning his posting at the Cintra court? Was he going to be-

"It is good to see you, Jaskier," Artorius said stepping into the greenhouse and cutting off Jaskier spiralling thoughts. "I had believed you dead for a time. Even after your mother revealed you had returned here, only to disappear into the night, I had often wondered of your fate. The brotherhood looked for you, you hid well."

"Uh," Jaskier wasn't sure what to say. "Um, thank you?"

Artorius smiled, before turning his attention to the herbs and plants which were growing in the greenhouse as he began to slowly circle around the room in even pressured steps.

"Is there a reason for your visit?" Jaskier finally said, turning his attention back to the herbs he had been in the process of cutting. "If you looking for my mother, she is away and she won't be returning until tomorrow."

"It was you I came to see," Artorius glanced at Jaskier. "A rumour of your return has been spreading amongst members of the brotherhood. I simply came to see if it was true."

"And now that you know it to be true?"

"I will simply give you a warning," Artorius said, pausing to sniff a flower.

Jaskier tensed.

"Stregobor will hear the rumour soon enough if he hasn't already," Artorius continued. "Be careful Jaskier, he will not move directly against you, he is too cowardly to do his own dirty work."

"But he will try and get someone else to do it for him," Jaskier voiced the unspoken warning.

Artorius inclined his head, "yes, I believe he will."

Jaskier sighed and shut his eyes. Just what he needed, he hadn't even been home a full week and he was already in danger. He paused for a moment, actually, he shouldn't have been all that surprised, it was Stregobor after all.

"There's no need to worry, Artorius," Another voice joined the conversation and Jaskier almost smiled at the way Artorius froze for a second and his steps faltered. "If that old man comes anywhere near dear Jaskier, he'll meet a rather unpleasant end."

~*~

"You're needed in the greenhouse," Giltine said suddenly appearing in the doorway.

Tissaia looked up from where she was stood at a small table, placed upon its surface was a small washtub and in the tub splashing happily at the water was Jaskier. His giggles filled the few seconds of silence. A look which was a cross between frustration and annoyance crossed Tissaia's face and she set down the washcloth she'd been using.

"A few of your students have run into some trouble," Giltine carried on talking.

Sighing Tissaia closed her eyes for a second, before she turned and stormed past Giltine.

"Watch Jaskier!" She called over her shoulder as she hurried towards the greenhouse.

The scent of smoke in the air made her nose twitch as she descended the stairs and as she crossed the hall to the greenhouse she could see the flicker of flames from beyond the door.

"Philipa!" Tissaia's voice cut across the chaos that was the greenhouse.

The mage-in-training froze for a second from where she had her hands raised before slowly turning towards the enraged Tissaia. With a wave of her hand, Tissaia extinguished the flames which were slowly spreading up the walls and the smoke cleared from the air.

"What is going on here?" She demanded, her voice as cold as ice.

"We were just practising a spell," Margarita was quick to explain.

"Rita," Philipa shook her head and caught her friend by the wrist.

"Sheala?" Tissaia questioned, turning to the other mage-in-training present in the room.

"We found a spell whilst in the library, which required the burning of certain herbs," Sheala finally explained.

"We didn't mean for the flames to get out of control," Margarita quickly added.

Philipa held her head high as she stepped forward, "it was an accident."

Tissaia stared at the three of them for a moment, "return to your rooms."

The three of them nodded and quickly hurried out of the greenhouse.

"Those three certainly seem to get in trouble a lot," Giltine commented from where he stood near the door.

"They are young," Tissaia replied, glancing at Giltine. "They will learn."

Suddenly, Tissaia's eyes widened. In the blink of an eye, Tissaia was back in the room where she'd been bathing Jaskier and running towards the tub. Her heart almost stopped in her chest as she grasped the edge of the tub and stared down at Jaskier, who was fully submerged under the water... Only he was moving about and very much alive. Letting out a stuttering breath, Tissaia pulled Jaskier from the water and clutched him to her chest unconcerned by the water which soaked through her dress as she wrapped her arms protectively around her baby. She'd had her suspicions about Jaskier true parentage, this simply confirmed it. However, had he been fully human, he would have drowned. 

"Giltine!"

~*~ 

Jaskier pulled the cork out of a wine bottle and poured the ruby red liquid into the two cups before him. Across the table from him, Philipa watched him closely before reaching forward and picking up one of the two cups.

"It's not poisoned," Jaskier met her gaze as he picked up his own cup. "Well, it might be... What I'm trying to say is, if it has been poisoned it wasn't by my hand."

Philipa snorted as she sipped the wine, "you haven't changed, little Jaskier."

"I've changed a lot," Jaskier disagreed. "Living lives as a simple human really changes one's views on life."

"Maybe," Philipa conceded, with a tilt of her head. "In some ways, you have. But you are still the same in the ways that matter."

"That may be the kindest thing you've ever said to me," Jaskier grinned. "Have you gone soft in the years I've been away?"

"One dead king would beg to differ," Philipa smirked.

"Ah, yes," Jaskier swirled the wine around in his cup. "I heard about King Vizimir's death. An elven blade, I believe. Is Stregobor to meet the same fate? You do realise if something happens to him, they will suspect you? You basically just told Artorius you'd kill him!"

"There's a long list of people who want him dead," Philipa pointed out. "And a lot of kingdoms still rage about the daughters they lost thanks to that prophecy he believed so passionately. He stays locked away in that tower of his for a reason... Think how much simpler it would have been if the Butcher had taken the princesses side instead."

Jaskier tensed at the mention of Geralt, before quickly downing his wine in a single gulp and reaching for the bottle. Philipa raised an eyebrow at him, before narrowing her eyes.

"Stregobor hasn't talked the witcher into coming after you next, has he?"

"No," Jaskier quickly shook his head. "No assassins of any kind... Yet."

"Just scared then are, little Jaskier," Philipa teased, with a slightly vicious smile. "Did you spend long enough around the humans to hear all their little horror stories about the Butcher."

Jaskier rolled his eyes.

"His name is Geralt, Philipa."

Philipa leant back in her seat, "you to have history."

"We travelled together, for a decade give or take a few years."

"He hurt you," Philipa said sharply, leaning forward as she looked Jaskier over as if searching for injuries. "That's why you've returned."

"I've spent too long running from destiny," Jaskier shook his head. "I couldn't run forever... Things happened and it made me realise there was nothing that life could offer me anymore. I thought I had found something, something special. Something that some people spend their whole lives searching for, but never find. I thought I had found it, but I had deluded myself, allowed my fantasies to cloud my perception."

"You love him."

Jaskier smiled sadly and shut his eyes, "I do and he loves Yennefer."

~*~

"What do you want, Philipa?" Tissaia asked, not turning her attention away from Jaskier as he squirmed in her arms.

Philipa stood in the doorway to Tissaia's office, an expression of pure shock and awe on her face as she stared at the baby in Tissaia's arms, who was now almost seven months old. The baby in question began to wail and tears began to well up in his eyes.

"Hush, petal," Tissaia soothed, rocking the baby gently.

"You have a child," Philipa finally said, still shocked by the sight before her.

Tissaia looked up, "I do."

"What's their name?" Philipa stepped into the office.

Tissaia almost sighed, "his name is Jaskier."

"You named him after a flower?"

"Philipa," Tissaia's voice was like steel as she spoke.

"I-" Philipa began to say.

"Ma," Jaskier quiet voice seemed to boom around the room as he clapped his hands together happily. "Mama."

Tissaia stared down at Jaskier in surprise.

"Mama," Jaskier repeated happily as he reached up and patted Tissaia's cheeks with his hands. "Mama."

Tears burned in Tissaia's eyes and she didn't dare look up with Philipa still stood by the doorway watching.

"Yes, petal," She said, her voice somewhat strained with emotion.

Jaskier began giggling happily and Philipa stared at the scene before her, still unable to get over the shook of someone as strict as Tissaia appearing so soft, as she held the giggling child in her arms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably come back and edit this chapter at a later date, as I'm concerned I've written the characters out of character and that it's lacking a fair amount of detail. So, for anyone who might be a bit disappointed with its lack of detail, I will try and remedy it soon!


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